


People Like Us Get Retired

by WhiteGloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Gen, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft IS the British Government, Protective Mycroft, Protective Sherlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteGloves/pseuds/WhiteGloves
Summary: Season 4On the eve of losing a battle,Mycroft returns to his home grave and in silent ponder. He had seen it coming but still unable to stop it;the typical way of things uncontrollable but what concerns him most is it surrounds his brother. Who else was to blame when the British Government was directly involved on his watch? Getting blamed was easy, who does it was another. And Sherlock's home.





	

***People Like Us Get Retired***

_~ **WhiteGloves** ~_

_-Giving you another brotherly fanfic on the eve of Season 4-_

_-Please be careful of SPOILERS!- :D_

_***Hope you enjoy!*** _

* * *

Mycroft Holmes had the most eventful day of the week, mostly because he was forced to do— if not some— then most of the _legwork_ on an ever ongoing case. Of course, this was entirely the fault of his younger brother, Sherlock, who had been breathing behind his neck on every steps and turn of the way. Normally Sherlock would not get in touch at all if there was a case at hand and would spare himself the sight of his older brother till he solves the case, but times seemed to have changed and there was Sherlock, ringing him now and then and wouldn't shut up about the Watsons. Not that Mycroft see any point to complain— _the British Government_ which he prides himself to say on the palm of his hands was involve in his brother case.

Sherlock's case.

Mycroft snorts softly at the thought as his eyes darted to the tinted screen of his car that silent night.

Yes, of course it was Sherlock's case. Even with the British Government tangled within it he was dead sure his younger brother was not going to step aside and let him lead the way. The monstrosity of the reaction of his younger brother prevented him from doing so. So there he was, vigilant and all for every discovery his brother had made till finally tipping him off of finding and cornering the _British Woman_ who had been the point of their calls and meetings— _this British Woman who had betrayed the A.G.R.A team._

Why who else but _Vivian Norbury._ Mycroft saw his own eyes flicker at the light of the passing car from his window and had to close it. Silently, his sedan reached his house. He quietly took his attaché case and umbrella before heading down doorway into the empty space that exists as his _home._ Technicalities aside, this was _home._ The walk seemed longer than usual till he reached his study room where he carefully left his umbrella and case. He also took time in removing his thick gloves and coat till he was on his vest. He let his tie remain for it wouldn't feel quite right. It surprised him how cool the study room was after pulling his sleeves up to his elbows and realised the fireside was down. He didn't bother lighting it and minded his way towards the wine cabinet where he took his favourite vintage.

The pouring was enough for him to remember Mary Watson and sighed inwardly.

" _Oh god, you're slow."_

Mycroft raised his head with a quick curving of lips and contortion of eyebrows to the place where the voice was heard. The lampshade on the right side of the tapestry window clicked open and there was his younger brother, Sherlock Holmes seated comfortably on the comfortable chair with his claimed-to-be comfortable thick coat. On the table next to him lie what appeared to be the spare key Mycroft had given him years ago. It seemed it was always used to its maximum.

It took Mycroft seconds to acknowledge the detective as he drank his wine up in one swoop and let the taste be savoured on his mouth. Sherlock watched him till their eyes meet and Mycroft was forced to swallow which literally left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You're doing home visitation now?" he inquired to the detective whose full attention was on him which bothered Mycroft a little as he took the bottle and his glass to the edge of the long table with Sherlock opposite him. There he sat down and leaned on his chair with eyes flickering at his younger brother.

"Things didn't seem… _that well_ … it didn't end well." He began, wondering why he was stating the obvious—

"Obviously." Sherlock's voice was a little too soft, _too scared_ it even scared Mycroft a little that made the Head of the Secret Service clear his throat and sat up straight with a frown on the younger one.

"If you don't mind me asking," Mycroft twirled the wine glass with his finger, "are you alright?"

"Don't bother, Mycroft—you knew this was going to happen." Sherlock's voice had gotten stronger, his eyes reflecting the light of the lampshade while the older brother stared at him quietly. "You already know, didn't you? About Vivian Norbury—next to Lady Smallwood she was the only person who could be referred to as the _British Woman_ taking in the fact that she is one of the _Four_ of your secret society members. You've already circled her the moment you believed Lady Smallwood's words yet you lied when you said you were surprised in the aquarium. That kept me wondering…"

"Is that why you came here?" Mycroft answered cordially as he leaned back, ironically happy that his brother was still talking a lot and not sulking about Mary's demise. "To tell me in the face that I lied? How long have you known me, Sherlock?"

The detective's eyes narrowed in the shadows and Mycroft took the opportunity to pour himself another drink.

"For further reference, I've already suspected her before you turned my attention to Lady Smallwood." He said in a matter of fact tone that got Sherlock's attention again. "Always the trick, you don't trust everybody, Sherlock, whatever small piece in the government they play they always turn out to be the dust in the wind that destroys the brightest of eyes. Take that literally. We had been suspecting a member of PALL—"

"Pall." Sherlock repeated and Mycroft could just see his brother's lips mouth the name of all the members of the Prime Minister's squad when they brought him in to discuss his pardon issues— _Pollock, Antarctica, Langdale and Love—_

"—to be sending out information and who else would I suspect other than the secretary?" Mycroft finished.

"Why? Because she looked too homely?"

Mycroft gave his brother a funny look—one that which screams _'you-judge-too-easily' and 'I'm-not-so-simple'—_ that somewhat got sent to which Sherlock frowned deeply looking offended.

"The opposite, in fact." The older brother went on before any interruption was made, "She does look simple and less attractive to the eye which basically made her a _weapon._ Spies are not made to standout, Sherlock, but don't think for a second she began as that. She made it to the British Government on her own and observing her, I found she had every bits of clever the institution needs… top marks from school, presumably, teacher's pet… the bookworm in class."

"You mean like you?"

"My professors never liked me."

"Nor did mine."

"Because you keep sending their chemistry set ablaze if I remember correctly."

"Because they never give me compounds for toxic so I had to make my own!"

" _Jesus."_ Mycroft poured himself another wine but merely tipped the glass from side to side, his eyes watching the red liquor as Sherlock watched his older brother.

"Be that as it may, she's also… _fragile…_ susceptible to hearsays and always looking at other people when she could have taken care of herself better… in short… _too much care for what others say and do which she could not… too much emotion."_

"Establishing difference between nerds I see." Sherlock smirked but Mycroft was way ready to reply with his own sly smile.

"Careful, brother. Most 'nerds' turn out to be the big bosses in the end."

" _Touché_."

"That aside," the older Holmes drank the wine down and took his time in swallowing again. "The failure of catching her lies all on me. We were too slow to act. Hence the death of Mary Watson—"

_"Don't go there."_

Mycroft raised his sharp eyes to his younger brother who wasn't looking at him but at the edge of the table.

"Sherlock—" he began—

"Don't you dare say it's your fault, it's mine." The brothers' eyes meet and there was something both mutual and piercing as the two stared at one another. And Sherlock's voice had gotten so strong again it was hard to listen without feeling intense. "You must've known for ages and you must've known I'll be dramatic in catching her because that's how I usually do… _but I provoked her…_ it was on me."

Silence fell between the two.

Mycroft let it till his eyes were able to look at his brother again. Sherlock had his eyes downcast on the table like a defeated soldier. His lips trembled, his adam's apple lost in the continued gulps and in that silence, the older brother knew just what his younger brother was next to do and waited… _all those efforts for naught…_

There was a difficult heaved sigh from across the table after a minute and Mycroft knew the worst had passed.

"You've warned me about this," he heard Sherlock say next that made him look up once more, "You told me… people like her, 'agents' they don't reach retirement… 'they get retired'… you knew this was going to happen."

"On a top scale of a presumptuous premonition taken from facts, then yes." Mycroft nodded briefly, "that's how they usually go. You could have saved yourself the trouble if you cared 'less', brothermine—"

"Are you suggesting—?!" he was almost shouting and was on his feet but Mycroft shook his head, his cold eyes enough to silence the outrage of the younger Holmes.

"No. I'm not." He took the bottle and poured himself another glass, and all the while speaking absentmindedly as if he couldn't believe what he was saying, "But she _saved your life_ because she _cared._ She spared your life back when she shot you because _she cared…_ she had done nothing but caring all these past events… and I owe her for your life. To which I can only be thankful."

He drank mightily while his brother's eyes bore on him as he slowly took his seat again but all the older brother said rang true. Mycroft remembered just hours back in that cylindrical aquarium how the gun had been pointed and how he knew nobody was leaving the place unscathed. Turned out the gun was on his brother in mere seconds but no matter how quick his mind was his body was too frozen to react. Mycroft would have relied on his brother's luck but getting shot once, he had already taken it; getting shot twice? Even Sherlock wouldn't be so… lucky. Then there was Mary Watson… dear brave, Mary Watson.

Mycroft closed his eyes for awhile and let the gratitude sink in. He held his hands closed and then pressed them on his eyes. The moment he breathed out loud and opened himself to the world again, he found his brother staring at him fixedly. The older Holmes cleared his throat.

"So…" he began and Mycroft wondered if he was the one speaking _too much_ when Sherlock should have been doing so since it was the purpose of his visit— _to keep on talking._ "You and John…"

Sherlock glanced away uncomfortably. "He'll come through… he always does… he should, for Rose…"

"But your relationship with him…?"

"As it stands, it's not the concern but-" Sherlock's eyes hardened. " _I believe in John Watson."_

Mycroft nodded and pressed his lips, then with an eyebrow arching, "So for the meantime I get to have the 'pleasure' of your company, brothermine?"

"I'm here, obviously."

_"I'm in pain."_

"You're the one who said you'll always be there."

"Must've slipped my mind."

Sherlock chew his lips with eyes narrowing in annoyance which Mycroft let slide. Teasing his younger brother, always such a delight especially when he gets to hit a few nerves here and there.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock went on again but it was a little whisper from the dark and something in his voice alerted Mycroft to its gravity. "People like Mary… people like them… _people with secrets and belonging to secret societies…"_ his eyes sharpened and there was meaning behind the heaviness of his voice that Mycroft was able to catch. "People _like you…"_

" _People like us get retired_." Mycroft finished for him simply for he knows well the train of thoughts of his younger brother as he leaned back on his chair, eyes squared on his younger brother. "You shouldn't find that surprising, Sherlock. And it's not just me, you too."

"I discover secrets."

"And I cover mine. We're both likely to be killed every hour of the day. People like us. But then of course between you and me— _not going to happen on my watch."_

Sherlock looked down, having said the same about Mary, but then realised he wasn't Mycroft and had to stand up. Mycroft watched his brother adjust the scarf on his neck and then slowly walk towards the doorway which was just behind Mycroft. The detective drew near him.

"What's Norbury got to do with Moriarty?" he threw at the older Holmes who raised an eyebrow, knowing that they will always end the conversation with that _name._

"She fell on his net in every way. She was actually the one who supplied him the information about me… He couldn't have known without insiders and only the PALL had seen me face to face."

"And you still didn't alert yourself after her?"

Mycroft's right eyebrow arched up and down. "As far as I know back then she was merely passing down occasional information that _I let her pass down._ She's a double agent without her knowledge and I deemed her _harmless…_ until today. So don't tell me everything's your fault, brothermine. You're not the only one who got 'arrogant'."

Sherlock had stopped by his brother's left side with both hands deep inside his pockets.

"Yes," the younger one softly admitted, "we're both _arrogant pricks_ that deserve our mother's scolding."

"Good god." Mycroft chuckled and poured himself wine again.

Silence fell and for a moment the older Holmes thought his brother had already left. Only to realise his shadow had lingered upon him which caused him to frown a little.

"Sherlock?"

"Can you stop lying?"

A snort escaped the British Government Head's lips. " _For goodness sake—Sherlock—"_

"No, just about one thing." The detective looked down his older brother who caught his eyes as he glanced sideways up at him. The look on his younger brother's eyes surprised Mycroft a little. "Just about one thing Mycroft… _keep your promise that you'll always be there."_

Mycroft was unable to process this new development when he felt his brother's left hand came tapping him on the left shoulder and then Sherlock was gone. Blinking to himself, the Head of the Secret Service opened his eyes wide and wondered if he had been drinking too much.

He looked at his wine bottle and saw that it was almost empty. So yes, he must've been imagining things. And even if he wasn't, that _promise_ Sherlock mentioned seemed quite hard to keep especially with what was to come next.

And Mycroft took out the sticky note paper from inside his vest pocket and stared at the number.

13th

So yes, it's going to be hard to keep because as he had already said _'People like us get retired.'_

Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed.

_'Permanently.'_

* * *

**_*THE END*_ **

_Thank you for spending time! :)_

_Incidentally you might want to read: Spare Holmes & Hidden Holmes_

_Just so ;) any thoughts?^^_

**_~Thanks again!~_ **


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